


What is left when nothing else is

by Arzani



Series: what is left [4]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: (I can't believe I have to write it actually), 4x10, Angst, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Post Series, Thomas is dead AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 16:30:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10745517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arzani/pseuds/Arzani
Summary: “Don’t do this to me. Please!” A hush, a whisper, a beg. Reverberating quietly like leaves stroked by the wind, but loud enough for James to hear. He closed his eyes, a sign of vulnerability. Yet this vulnerability was invisible compared to that outstretched hand, holding a loaded gun, finger at the trigger and the uncertainty of what was harder palpable. To pull or not to.A different outcome for Silver and Flint. In the light of what would have happened if Morgan had returned with a different message for John.Set in my "What is left" universe, but the other stories are not necessarily needed to understand this one. It's more the beginning of the verse.





	1. my strongest love

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [AngryPirateHusbands](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AngryPirateHusbands) for betaing this fic.

“This is not what I wanted … but I will stand here with you, for an hour, a day, a year, until you find a way to accept this outcome and we might leave here together. Because if not then I must end this another way.”

The words buzzed in his ears, like the steady sound of the waves. They reminded him of what he had loved, once, but had forgotten in the storms, the lightning and thunder of an inherent force deep inside him. He knew John was right. But he wasn’t ready to accept the truth.

James’ gaze darted to the gun pointed at his chest only for a mere moment before his eyes were back at John’s, holding them, drowning in them. The sadness in those blue eyes was as deep and open as the unending sea. Mirrored in the salty pearls which clung to his eyelashes. Visible in his trembling hand.

If John shot him now, James wouldn’t hold it against him. In fact, he would understand, and a part of him, a small voice in his head, even encouraged it. Because it would hinder him from doing more harm to him - to John. He had talked about the world, but deep down inside him James knew that he only cared for the man in front of him. He cared for him, for Madi, and for their combined happiness. It had been in reach, and now it was lost.

Exhaustion had slept in his veins and now it was awake. He was so god-damn tired.

“So, you will shoot me then, here? In this forest, to give the world another story to tell? About their monsters that lie in the dark, who whisper of truths that had only ever been lies.”

James’ voice wavered. He knew he was repeating himself, clinging to an argument that held no value anymore. Not when it wasn’t of any value to John. He could see it in every trembling fiber, in every breaking part of John’s face that it was of no importance to him. It never had been. The world, the stories it told, his past and names, they never had held any value to him. Because John had shrugged the past off of him like a drenched coat. Heavy and hindering.

Without his conscience James took a step forward, and he almost felt in his own body how John tensed. The gun shook more strongly and for a split second he wondered if John would be able to go through with it, with shooting him, when everything screamed he didn’t want to. Looking around, James took in his surroundings, the whirlwind of green and brown as light and darkness played a game of catch. But eventually he found John’s blue eyes again, as mysterious as the ocean. Shifting and beautiful as the changing tides. It was a good place to die.

“It is no lie. This is no lie. We are no lie.” John’s voice sounded ragged, hoarse with his unshed tears, and parts of James wanted to hold him, to whisper into his hair that it wasn’t supposed to end like this. A part of James wanted to promise John everything and more, to will the pain away. Feelings that haunted him since he had seen the agony caused of grief. A pain James knew too well himself, and had never wanted for his closest friend. But he knew he wasn’t allowed. That same part hoped, that despite his earlier spoken words, John would find a story to excuse everything of what was happening here to Madi, just so she would comfort him.

“What is it then, John? What are _we_ , then?”

Exhaustion gripped and dragged at him. With trembling knees James longed for that boulder to sit back onto it, yet he would remain standing for a little while longer. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to show weakness. John knew his weakness, he _was_ his weakness. But he had always sworn to look death into the face standing, and it was no oath he dared to break. How beautiful his death was, with long, dark curls, lips so kissable he had dreamed of them not only in his sleep, and eyes wild like the unrelenting sea. How beautiful John was and always would be.

It was a good day to die.

“Don’t do this to me. Please!” A hush, a whisper, a beg. Reverberating quietly like leaves stroked by the wind, but loud enough for James to hear. He closed his eyes, a sign of vulnerability. Yet this vulnerability was invisible compared to that outstretched hand, holding a loaded gun, finger at the trigger and the uncertainty of what was harder palpable. To pull or not to.

“Give me a reason, one good reason, why I should accept your outcome and I will gladly walk back with you to that boat, leave this island and never return. Give me one reason to live…” He stopped, his voice cracking as he realized his own words. What did he suggest here? John had dragged him back to life once, no twice, so many times, and still he demanded him to do it again? It was a hard piece to swallow, to realize how selfish he was. And James was selfish in his current demand, as he placed the weight of his own life on a man’s shoulders who carried too much already. People… James must crush John under all the responsibilities he never wanted. “Forget it. Just...”

His voice cracked and reality crashed down on him. Tears sprung to his eyes while his knees buckled. A moment later James sat in the grass, unable to hold himself up. Coldness and exhaustion crept from the dirt through the fabric of his breeches into his limbs. All the burden he had placed on others, all the burden he had placed on John. It wasn’t fair. It never had been.

His head tilted upwards slowly, to meet John’s gaze, again, and when he regarded the familiar features of his frame, it was like seeing him for real for the first time. All the exhausted lines in his face, the mouth pressed to a thin line and the shivering that had overtaken John’s whole body, struck him. Realization added up and allowed James to see a pained man that just wanted to live. How had he been blind to this for so long? John was no monster like him, no devil that could put one foot after another towards his own doom, without breaking somewhere along the way. That self-destructing habit was reserved for himself alone.

It made him feel deep sorrow for everything he had done. Because James loved him, loved John, despite all the odds, despite all the betrayed trust, the lies, the hurt and the pain. As long as his heart beat, a part of him would always love John Silver. It made James into the man he now was.

“James.”

The word was a mere whisper, brokenly uttered in between one breath and the other. Yet, it startled him out of his reverie, and suddenly James realized he was crying. Silent tears streaked down his cheeks, a steady flow like a river. All water finally reconnected with the ocean.

Maybe now was the time to accept that John had been right all the time. Because if he didn’t accept it now, James knew, there wouldn’t be another chance to.

“John…,” James started to speak and lifted a hand when he saw that John wanted to interrupt him. Immediately the only sounds audible were the noises of the forest, birds chirping in the trees, the soft push and pull of the ocean afar. They hadn’t made it into his consciousness before.

His eyes never left John’s blue ones. Never strayed, never wavered, no matter that a gun was still pointed at his chest. But what meaning did it have anymore? They had stood facing each other, swords at each other’s throats, and it had only served to strengthen their bonds. A gun wouldn’t break it.

“…can you accept my apology, when I tell you that I was too blind to see that you’re the only reason I need?”

It was a good thing that John had become quite nimble on the crutch. Some months ago he would have needed too long to cross the distance, and had given James enough time to think about his words. Now, though, he found the way into his arms in a mere moment. The air was pressed out of James’ lungs when John’s heavy body crushed against his, but he didn’t mind. Instead he wrapped his arms around John’s waist and buried his nose in the soft curls of his hair. Sweet smells of sweat and salt filled his nostrils, a reminder of what it was to be home. His tears had never stopped flowing.

Simultaneously John had wrapped his arms around James’ neck to pull him closer, if that was even possible. The crutch lay forgotten next to them in the grass. Cold metal brushed against his back through the fabric of James’ shirt and he realized that the gun hung loosely from John’s fingers, forgotten in the emotions of the moment. A strangled sob sounded at his ear, and with a swift motion the weapon was flung away, as if John had read his mind.

“I’m sor-,“ John started, obviously aware of what could have happened, when a shot loosened the moment the gun hit the ground. Birds shook the branches of nearby bushes when they escaped the sound into the sky, and both of them jumped. Voices made their way to them, heavy steps drew nearer and they looked at each other startled. They had forgotten about Hands and Ben, they had forgotten they weren’t alone on this god-forsaken island. Even though civilization seemed so far away, they still weren’t free.

Thoughts rushed through James’ mind, too many at a time, but one filtered through all of them and it was that the men would expect John to get the cache, as long as James himself was alive. They would force it out of him, force John to force it out of him. James knew there were many ways to make a person do something they didn’t want to, and none was pleasant. “You have to end me!”

“What?” If the situation hadn’t called for urgency, James would have been amused by the shock on John’s face, but unfortunately there wasn’t time to revel in his sweet expression of utter disbelief.

“They believe we are here to retrieve the treasure. I am the only one who knows where it is. When you want it to remain in the ground, you have to convince the men that I was not willing to give you the location for whatever reason.”

It would be painful to give up the closeness, the embrace and warmth of their shared touch, but James knew it had to be done. Walking away from this fight would allow him some sort of rest, for the first time in ten years probably, but not yet. Not before they weren’t back to safety. John had talked about arrangements to stop the rebellion, to stop the bloodshed and James had to trust him on that matter. But before these arrangements could come into effect, they had to return to Nassau to make them work.

He could see the irritation and shock, the exhaustion, all the emotions on John’s face. For the first time since meeting the man, James believed to be able to read all of them. His thumb stroked John’s lips, caressed his face and brushed away a tear that had sneaked its way down his cheeks. “You didn’t believe I would comply. That I would give up the war.”

It was a statement and John simply nodded. It broke James’ heart to see it, see what he had done over all the time. He should have focused earlier on what was important, instead of fighting for the… maybe not wrong outcomes, but the unachievable ones. The distant ones that were out of reach. Thomas had wanted the best for Nassau, for the New World. But he had also always wanted the best for him, for James. And it was time to live for the living and not for the death.

Leaning forward, his knees touching John’s, James pressed their foreheads against each other’s. With soft strokes he glided his fingers through John’s hair to sooth him. Tears, which shimmered at the corner of his blue eyes, told a silent tale no words ever could. They breathed the same air, and James could feel it brush his own lips. Many words danced on the tip of his tongue but only a pained smile cracked through. They never needed actual words to communicate. Instead James tilted his head and his lips brushed John’s slightly and delicately, as if he was a fair flower shifting in the wind. It was the sweetest kiss he had ever given a person in his life, and before he could find out whether John was reciprocating he drew back. Heart-break was for another hour.

Wide blue eyes followed his movements as he let go of the embrace, sat back on his heels and eventually stood. They were glued to him, when he pulled a knife out of his belt and weighed it in his hands. Only when James wrapped his palm around the blade and pulled it over his skin, he turned away from those deep ocean orbs, to not have John see his blood spill.

Captain Flint was defeated and it was his task to show everyone who needed it to see. But John didn’t, as he already knew.

* * *

Pain shot from his hand through his body and made him hiss. Out of instinct he tried to pull it out of the grip it was in, but fingers closed around his wrist and held him in place. When it was certain James would remain still, they continued their work.

“I hope this hurts enough for you to never do something as stupid as cutting your own palms open ever again,” John chided, not looking up. There was a strange edge in his voice, chipped and sharp, but by now James knew it was John trying to conceal his worry. As the argument was old, James remained silent. Instead he watched those delicate fingers wash his wound with a cloth. The touch of the fabric burned whenever it rubbed over the cuts, but James banned the pain to the farthest corner of his mind. There were better things to focus on. Like the ocean-deep blue eyes focused on the task. Or black, unkempt curls framing an edgy face. It was tilted downwards to have a better look at the hand, lips pressed into a tight line.

They sat by the desk inside the quartermaster’s cabin, John in one stool in front of him and James in another. A basin of fresh water was next to them on the tabletop, the water now pink from the blood. Both wore simple clothes, fresh ones, which didn’t identify them as the feared pirates they still were. No coats, no weapons, only some breeches, light shirts and some jewelry. It was a state James would have to get used to. He would not take over the title of captaincy ever again.

James regarded John, as he worked in silence. It was only three days ago since they had left Skeleton Island together. But if felt like ages had passed. The water had shifted, the tides had turned and this was a new start.

When Hands had spotted them - he had been the first to arrive after the gun went loose - James had just placed himself against the boulder to act as if John had defeated him. He had used his own blood to smear it over his face and arms, had even cut his own temple, which had made John cry out. The yelp had sounded like coming from a pained animal and while Ben, Hands and Morgan had probably believed it was James beating John, in reality no such thing had happened. Nonetheless, James tried not to think of how defeated John had looked at the prospect of all the show being real. It could have happened.

“What will you tell… everyone?” he asked after a long while of silence. At the words, John stopped cleaning the wounds and furrowed his brows. Then he dipped the cloth back into the water and reached for some bandages next to the basin.

When Hands had found them, he had drawn his sword immediately, ready to kill James. But John had stepped in between, his face hard and his voice authoritarian. It had been outright scary to watch him reduce a man like Hands, whose every fiber screamed bloodlust, to whimpers and shivers. All with simple words.

Officially James was a prisoner, taken to be sent to a faraway place from which he wouldn’t be able to return. Officially John had told Jack and the remaining members of the Walrus’ crew to keep him alive, to not make a martyr out of him. Officially they would return to Nassau, where a treaty would be signed that would free the slaves of Maroon Island and pardon the pirates of Providence Island. With help of the Guthrie family a new governor would be established and people could live peacefully.

James had asked for everyone. Who he meant was Madi.

“The prospect of betrayal from his old Quartermaster, whose face was of the rebellion, and losing the war due to it, forced Captain Flint to retire from his life at sea. He kept silence about the location of the cache, unwilling to share it after all that had happened. This is what I will tell everyone,” John said quietly and his voice didn’t share much emotion. James listened closely, his eyes following the motions of John’s hands as they wrapped his own in the bandages. Carefully, as to not hurt him further than beyond necessity.

When he shifted his gaze from the hands to John’s eyes, he saw the rawness and anguish in them. If he could, he would have reached out to caress John’s face. With his bloodied and wounded hands, though, he would only leave blood-stains.

His voice was thick when he spoke. “I suppose Madi will not believe such a story.”

John winced at the words and James immediately felt sorry. He knew he need to disappear from Nassau, from the prying eyes of people who wanted nothing more than his strength to lead them to war. He knew he himself needed to get away from the temptation of it, or else the voice in him would drown out everything else again. That voice Miranda and John had known, which whispered he dishonored Thomas’ death without the rage burning him from inside out.

It hurt, because he loved Madi as much as he had loved Miranda, but she was such a temptation, and her voice carried too much weight. The weight of thousands upon thousands of slaves, all whispering to her in her sleep. Daring her to set them free. To change the world. To reach out for their needs. Parts of those voices haunted James, too. They probably would haunt him forever. It wasn’t that he could shed his beliefs like a coat. But he knew that they had lost too much and would lose even more when going on. Finally, he saw that he was not able to drag himself further without losing himself.

“No, she won’t,” John answered, and regardless of his efforts to hide his feelings, James could hear in his voice a vibration of unshed tears. After all, John loved Madi just the same. Maybe even more. Maybe just the same as John loved him. Which was more than James had ever believed he could be loved, again. “But that is not of your concern for now.”

With steady movements, John finished wrapping the fabric around his hands and fixed the bandage with a knot. A dull pain remained, but it was nothing compared to the ache in James’ chest. They didn’t let go, didn’t move, just looked at each other. The world outside these four walls was far away.

“You know I did make it mine, the moment you fell for her,” James said steadily, matter-of-factly, but not in an unkind way. What a half-truth this was. What a way to conceal that they both loved and would always love. But John knew its truth himself, so James didn’t see the need to correct his words.

“And I did let you the moment you fell for her.”

It was more of a sigh then spoken words, and it was the trigger for James to move. He pushed himself out of the stool, invaded John’s private space and reached for his lips. The kiss was soft and comforting, like waves hitting the shore on a sunny, cloudless day. While they kissed, their hands never let go and John held James’ bandaged palm like a treasure. Even when they parted and James sat back, they kept the connection. Like a physical link that was the only way to keep each other alive.

“Tell her the truth, John. I’m as much to blame as you are,” he spoke softly, earnestly, and fixed John’s gaze with his own. He wanted to make his point and show that it was not a weight he needed to carry alone. But he knew that John wouldn’t split this burden to ease the pain. Because he was selfish and selfless at the same time in a very wondrous way.

“I will, once she’s ready to let go and be able to accept the truth.”

The words made James sigh lowly, his shoulders sagging down a little and he closed his eyes in defeat. Not opening them, unable to bear the sunlight playing on the golden skin represented to him, he spoke, “She will resent you. I waged this war out of selfish reasons, but she did it for her kind. We both know she will need time to heal and we both know she will suffer. I should carry her pain and hatred as much as you do. If she needs to resent, she should resent us both.”

Coldness seeped through his clothes at the prospect of a crying Madi. It wasn’t right to force her through such an outcome, with all that she had given up for this war. Just like John and himself, Madi had suffered a great amount of loss, of pain and fear and grief. James didn’t doubt she would come to accept the end of the war, with time. But it wouldn’t leave her unaffected, never did. Wounds led to scars inevitably.

Soft caresses of circling fingers on his palm soothed James. He focused on the touch, let the press of wooden chair on his back ground him. Physical affection had died for him the moment Miranda had been shot in front of his eyes, but now, with John so close and so willing to give, James realized how much he needed it to live.

“I won’t see you for a long time. Even before we reach Nassau we have to part and I will not allow anyone to blacken my memory of you. If it means to face resentment myself, I will selfishly grab it with both hands.” His voice trailed off and silence enveloped them for a long while. But the touch of their hands, the slight brush of their knees and the peace softened it. To have John Silver quit talking was a rare occasion James would not disturb.

Even with his eyes closed James felt the gaze on his body. It was like a physical touch, the way those blue eyes raked down his posture, to take in every last fiber of his being. The white of his shirt against his freckled skin, his plain breeches touching the floor next to his bare feet and the red cuts still visible on his face. He wondered what John saw in him, loved him for, when everyone had only ever seen him as a monster. For John he was a man, a man worth ripping open his chest and giving over his heart. To receive his heart in return. And Madi’s. A person grew so much stronger with every heart they took care for.

“Not to mention that I need you in her good grace so you can persuade her to forgive me, someday.”

James’ lips curled upwards, not able to hide the smirk that was forming on his lips. “You’ll always be a little shit,” he chuckled and eventually opened his eyes, only to be met with a grin himself. His heart fluttered, and he reveled in the warmth that flooded his veins, steady like a river.

“Other one,” John demanded instead of answering, and brushed over the neatly done bandage, before he placed James’ wrapped up hand back in his lap and reached out for the other. Willingly following the request, James gave himself over to let someone else take care of him, for the first time in ten years.

* * *

Making love to John was the sweetest and most frustrating experience James had ever come to know. His body longed for the touch, longed for it since the night in the cage on Maroon Island, when he had been so willing to die but John had dragged him back to the living. The steady suppresses of his carve for close intimacy had built up to a constant longing, which was released in the most overwhelming sensation of bliss. It was a good thing Jack had prompted Featherstone’s cabin as their quarters. Actually, only James’ quarters – his prison so to speak – but John had practically moved in with him. If his presence wasn’t needed on deck, he was with James.

Neither of them had held back their moans, nor their sighs or shouts. Neither of them had cared whether the crew could hear them or not. The constant lingering knowledge of their separation had drawn them together even more strongly. Whatever it took, they would deal with the costs on a later date. For now, they would revel in every second they could spend together.

And revel they did. Their bodies fitted like two halves of the same coin, forged to one with the fire of their mutual rising passion. For a split moment, when their kiss had shifted into something more urgent, something more needing, James had feared to ruin their connection with his greed. Tingling sensation had clouded his judgement and his body had taken over for him. But just like with every other part of their relationship, John had guided him when he was unable to. Clever fingers had found the right spots to sooth, press further and melt his doubts. Demanding lips had ensured they were on the same page, of the same mind, and John’s body – oh his wonderful, strong body – had held him when he felt like he was drowning.

While John had undone him, and had stripped layer after layer, James had wished to reciprocate with the same determination and willingness. Every fiber in him had ached to give, to worship and marvel at the beauty lain bare before him. Yet, when he had reached out to touch, pain had shot through his body. The cuts on his hands didn’t forgive what he had done to them, not even in this purest moment of closeness. While James was willing to oversee this obstacle for the sake of satisfying his physical need to please, John didn’t want to hear any of it.

“Pain,” he had whispered in James’ ear, “is something we’ve endured enough. I want us to be free of it, at least for this night. Allow me to selfishly take it off my conscience.”

How could he have refused such a wish, when it was written in every line of John’s face that just the thought of James in pain unnerved him? In all his life James had never seen so much anguish over his own welfare. He tried to think of a moment that reached close but his mind rejected him. Maybe it was unfair to his beloved ones, dead or alive, to compare while his mind was rather occupied with taking in John’s bare frame covering his, but at this moment he couldn’t care less.

In the end, James had had to make do with the mind-blowing frustration of just receiving, his arms safely tugged above his head. With every sense of his being he had had to experience the feeling of giving up control, and when his orgasm had ripped through him, he had realized the freedom it could bring. He wasn’t saved from the constant struggle with his demons which wanted to reign control, wasn’t saved from keeping himself to indulge in his rage, but he had snapped a glimpse of another path, and it was enough to want to take it.

With his eyes closed, breathing even and John’s back safely tugged at his chest, James recollected the events of the night. A soft smile played at the edges of his lips. John’s body emitted a warmth that made the light blanket draped over them unnecessary but not unwelcome. It was like a cocoon which only allowed the two of them to exist.

After his release, James had insisted on returning the favor. While his hands were still out of question, his mouth was perfectly fine to please. It had been a sight to behold, John’s head thrown back, eyes squinted and lips forming a perfect O. A sight James had mesmerized into the finest detail, to never forget whatever would happen in the future.

Turning a little and feeling the cot under him swing, he angled his head to press kisses into John’s shoulder-blades. James had drifted into a light sleep, waking and falling back into it several times over the night. His body was ready to rest for days while his mind still tried to process all that had happened. Time had escaped him, only the soft moonlight told that it was the middle of the night.

A soft sob pulled James out of his marvel and he stopped his caresses, shocked. First, he wondered if he had imagined the sound, but when another one sounded through the silence, it felt like something shattered inside him. His heart broke at the silent cry, and without giving a damn about his hands, he pushed himself into a sitting position. Pain shot through his body, but the worry weighed heavier and James was unable to look at John in his lying position. He needed to look at him, to see what was going on.

“John?” James whispered and when he sat, he placed a hand on John’s shoulder. It was a soothing, reassuring gesture, but no reply in any kind of way came. John had placed a hand over his eyes, probably to hide his tears that seeped through the cracks of his fingers anyway. They wetted the sheet that covered them. It was the most vulnerable James had ever seen him. Naked, only covered by a thin fabric, crying in full sight of him. It was madding, but a small part realized how much he was trusted, or else John would have never let it come to it.

Words danced on James’ tongue, many of them, but none felt good enough to be spoken aloud. None felt reassuring enough, meaningful enough, to offer. His jaw clenched, eyes dancing with worry but also with uncertainty of how to handle the situation. The was no movement in John, no recognition of James regardless of the fact that he must be aware James was awake and watching him. Out of impulse he reached for the hand, entangled their fingers as much as it was possible with the bandage around his own, and pulled it from John’s face. Blue eyes stared at him, puffy from tears and round and big and sorrowful.

Despite the pain which radiated from his hand, James pulled John’s palm to his lips and placed a kiss on top of it. Another sob ripped through the silence in the moment of the contact, and an invisible hand clenched James’ heart tightly. He wished for words, but none came. His senses had left him. An overall feeling of drowning was all that was left.

Drowning. James didn’t want to allow himself to drown again, for the sake of John, who looked so lost. His blue eyes searched for his, fixed his gaze, and James didn’t look away. He knew it was what helped John to not fall into whatever was pulling at him, and he be damned if he would let John slip further into this hole. Strengthened by the firm believe that this time James would save John, needed to save John, he slipped his arms under John’s back and lifted him up. Shivers ripped through John’s body as his whole frame trembled with silent sobs. Yet, the moment John realized comfort was in reach he flung himself against James’ chest. His fingernails dragged over the bare skin of his torso, unable to find purchase. It didn’t matter to James, the pain, the scratches, the overwhelming sensation of ignorance about what was going on, all of it didn’t matter. Important was the dying tension, the softening body under his touch and the calmness that took place.

When John had fully eased in his arms, James softly pushed him off his chest, to look into his eyes. While there was distance between them, he made sure to not let go completely. One of his bandaged hands was still at the back of John’s head, entangled with his mess of dark curls. A constant dull pain made him guess that some of the cuts had started to bleed again. It was given a minor fraction of consideration before James dismissed the thought as not important.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

Silence lingered after the question was asked, and James even anticipated to never get an answer. It was a possibility he had to accept. He was well aware of John’s reluctance to talk about his past, about his story and a part of him wondered if a past memory had reopened like an old, never-healing wound. Searching, he tried to find a hint in the lines of this familiar face whether he should press or not. The last time he had simply asked John, pressed without consideration, but James had learned of the past. There were some stories even a John Silver couldn’t tell.

Then John leaned forwards and kissed James, and it felt like a desperate attempt to convey his sincerity. Teeth scraped over his, his upper lip was sucked in and a broken moan bubbled up from deep within, surprising James himself, who had never thought to be able to produce such a sound. Their beards scratched angrily over each other’s skin and when James pulled away John followed him until it wasn’t possible anymore. Just then, when they broke apart, John caught his gaze which was filled with pain. To James, John looked years younger, vulnerable and insecure.

“Please believe me that I love you,” John whispered, pleaded even. The words hit James like blades, cutting his heart open in the process. They ripped through him like only the truth could. Would they always dig into their represented souls under the cover of night? Was it the moonlight that allowed them honesty? Was it possible for them to exist in both the daylight and the moonlight, once? James hoped for it, would work hard to achieve this goal. But it seemed for whatever revelation John wanted to tell, he had needed the presence of the night.

“I know. John, I know!” James rasped, cupped both sides of John’s face with his bandaged hands and winced at the pain. Immediately his own hands were covered with John’s, who pulled at them but James shook his head. This was more important that some cuts, or spilled blood. “What is wrong?”

If on cue, John avoided his eyes, but James tightened his grip and gulped down an anguished hiss. While he fought against the consuming pain, John’s eyes shot up, worried.

“You shouldn’t –“

“Tell me what’s wrong, not that I should care about my hands!” James interrupted. It was a frustrated hiss, his words short and his breath tight. Anger didn’t help here, but deep down inside him it simmered, to conceal the worry. Captain Flint wasn’t entirely defeated. To defeat this kind of fear would take years.

They looked at each other, staring each other down, unforgiving. What seemed like frustration on first sight was deep carved worry for each other and James knew he held more validation to be worried than John at this point. After seconds passed, John’s body slumped down, falling forward a little. It was James’ sign to give up his tension, as well, and he sighed heavily. When he removed one hand to reach for John’s, he saw blood stain on John’s tanned cheek. A lump formed in his throat. It was a problem to worry later about.

“Whatever you will tell me, it won’t stop or waver my love for you,” James spoke lowly, but with determination. He could make out how John gulped, how his Adam’s apple bobbed. The night concealed nothing.

“When we caught Max, I asked her what she wanted to do with me. She tried to capture me, you remember?” John started, and no matter James had no idea why this was relevant, or how it could help to tell what John needed to tell, he nodded. Of course, he remembered. Of course, he hadn’t forgotten. He had believed John was dead and the thought had nearly destroyed him. “She talked about a plantation in Savannah, where people who needed to disappear work. Once sent there, they would never reappear again, removed from society, but not killed. Treated kindly even.”

John stopped, voice wavering, close to a breaking point. Reassuringly James squeezed his hand, stroke his cheek, persuaded him to continue.

“She mentioned that… wealthy families make use of this plantation. Wealthy English families.”

This time John’s voice broke for real, but James didn’t need him to continue speaking. The rest fell to place in his mind. Agonizingly obvious. Thomas!

Hadn’t John asked him what he would do if Thomas was still alive? Hadn’t James himself told him that he couldn’t say for certain whether he hadn’t gone down the road John had taken. Stupidity was always more likely once the people you loved came into play.

His mind reeled at the prospect of Thomas being at this plantation, but a part of him knew it was idle hope. Thomas was dead, this much James was certain of. Not because he had felt him gone the moment Thomas had actually died. Not because he was haunted of him in his dreams – that had been Miranda’s part altogether. Thomas was dead for one reason entirely and that was that Alfred Hamilton didn’t possess the ability to feel mercy.

It was James who leaned forward to kiss John, now. Yet it felt completely different, warmer, bittersweet, but hopeful. John’s eyes went wide, almost white in the light of the moon. After the shock faded, though, he closed his lids and fell into the touch, returning it eagerly, desperately. They didn’t break apart for a long while, finding peace in their touch.

“It isn’t your fault that he is dead, John,” James spoke softly when they let go. It always had pained him to even utter Thomas’ name, but somehow speaking of him now was easier than he anticipated. Maybe because talking would sooth John’s pain. Maybe because he knew that Thomas would have wanted this. Them. Happiness. “And it isn’t your fault that he wasn’t at that plantation.”

“How do you-?”

“-know?” James finished the sentence that had slipped over John’s tongue. A smile tugged at his lips. Bittersweet, but genuine. John nodded.

“Thomas was a good man. A visionary, a dreamer maybe. You would have called him naïve, I’m sure of. But his father wasn’t a good man. Alfred Hamilton wouldn’t have sent his son to a better place, for he never had contained such farsightedness or mercy.”

James’ lips twitched and his lids closed in exhaustion. He remembered all too clearly the day he had killed Alfred Hamilton with his own hands. There were many murders he regretted, but surely not this one. When he opened his eyes again, he realized silent tears streamed down John’s face. Reaching out, he thumbed them away.

“I hoped, I really hoped. I sent Morgan to the plantation. But when he returned he shook his head and I wanted to weep. You were behind bars and I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to tell you. I really did, but a voice always made fun of me, laughed at me and questioned me what there was to tell. I would only shatter you again and I didn’t want to. When Madi was taken, I realized what you had lost, and I was so desperate because nothing would have ever brought you back what I was fighting for. I tried to justify my actions and couldn’t! You asked me for a reason to follow my outcome and I couldn’t give you one. I’m so sorry, James. I’m so sorry!”

The sight before him broke James’ heart. John was crying, his words wavering with the shed tears that were rolling down his cheeks. His whole posture was open, acceptful of any blow James could throw his way, even expected it. It must have been a heavy weight to carry, the knowledge that there had been a possible outcome for Thomas to survive which Alfred Hamilton hadn’t taken. But all James saw was the person he wanted to protect and he could protect. Miranda had been his first love and Thomas his truest love, but John… John was his strongest love. John was the man who had walked their shared path through heights and depths, had descended into darkness with him and survived it, to lead him back to the light. Thomas and Miranda were death, but they had always wanted him to be happy and John was alive. John was his to love, to cherish and protect. It was not his fault that Alfred Hamilton had been a merciless bastard.

“You did give me a reason to go on living.” He pulled John close, leaned his forehead against his and smiled. Simply smiled, touched by all the tears that were shared out of concern for his happiness. His hands, broken as they were, had found John’s face again, wiping away the tears relentlessly. Regardless of how long it would take to dry them, James wouldn’t stop. Even broken you could still fix each other.

“You are the reason to go on living. I love you and I know you love me. As long as that is true, I’ll always fight to see our light.”

“Thank you.”

The words were spoken silently, almost not audible, but James felt them vibrate against his lips and it probably was the purest gratitude he’d ever heard out of John’s mouth. A small twitch of his lips gave away his half-smile, his relief to see life back in John’s expressions. Pulling him down, he tugged John’s head under his chin, as he laid them down again. “Sleep,” James mumbled and pulled John even closer, not willing to let go. Not now and not ever again. “Sleep.”


	2. my most painful love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waiting forever is easier said then done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I nearly gave up on this story. I had the first part written out quite early but it got harder and harder to write this, especially with the lack of response I got (this is what you get when you're overly excited about a story)  
> So I tried and finished this chapter. One is still missing but I don't promise to write it, and I really don't promise to write it soon. But I at least wanted to get out what I have, so well. The ending is not as good as the beginning I guess.

 

“… Thomas Hamilton was there. He disbelieved me. He continued to resist. Corralling him took great effort…”

_“I don’t know what to tell her. She will want to know the truth, but the truth is nothing I can give her just yet,” John said, almost sighed, into James’ collarbone. His arms were wrapped around James’ neck, his nose brushed the freckled skin slightly. Salt and cooling sweat and yearning filled his nostrils, while his limbs still felt sated and heavy. Their legs were entangled with each other’s, a blanket covered their bare bodies loosely. There was nothing he did not enjoy about this particular moment of bliss, but Madi was a lingering presence on his mind. As he knew she was on James’ mind. They both loved her, and it was good that the heart was an expandable thing._

_Silence lingered as James took the words into account. His eyes looked at John, but they were distant, because his mind was deep in thought. But the quiet didn’t weigh heavy between them, rather it was a feeling of floating on the water, almost peaceful and light. “The truth is just another story the victorious tell. Everyone sees the world through different eyes. Let us tell her a story about us. A story about what could have been, if things had concluded in another outcome.” James’ words trailed off and a sensation overcame John, fleeting but meaningful like a feather stroking his soul. “Tell her a story about Thomas, and I’m sure she will understand, one day.”_

“But the closer we got to Savannah, his resistance began to diminish. I couldn’t say why. I wasn’t expecting it.”

The words dripped out of his mouth like constant rain pouring down between them. It was heart-breaking to see Madi’s disbelieve, her anger and pain, and John wished he could be more honest with her. It would have been so easy to tell her the truth, about James and him, the truth about them, but it didn’t diminish his betrayal regarding the war. The war was over and as he had said, he was not sorry about it.

“Perhaps he’d finally reached the limits of his physical ability to fight. Or perhaps, as the promise of seeing Thomas grew closer, he grew more comfortable letting go of this man he’d created in response to his loss.”

Parts of John knew he was still talking about a half-truth, a half-lie, yet other parts of him realized what his speech really consisted of. It wasn’t Thomas or James he talked about. It was not about their loss or James’ hard and winding path back to the light. None of these words tried to describe someone else. They rather reverberated through his own soul, resurfacing a man he had believed lost.

John Silver still lived under the mask of Long John. He hadn’t realized how James McGraw, or James Barlow as he wanted to call himself now, had brought that man back. Long John Silver and Captain Flint had descended to the darkness together, stripped bare, layer after layer after layer, until only their purest souls existed in the dim light. They had found each other, had embraced each other’s very true natures and had decided to live. Now they slowly scrambled out of the abyss and John knew they needed Madi’s help to find their way.

But he wasn’t sure if she would grant them her help.

“The man whose mind I’d come to know so well; whose mind I had in some ways incorporated into my own. It was a strange experience to see something from it so unexpected.”

It had taken a long time until John had realized he was allowed to love both Captain Flint and James Barlow. Love both the villain and the nobleman, the monster and the ethereal, the pirate and the voyager. A bolt of yearning crashed through him and he had to hold back the tears. When would he see James again? They had parted about two weeks ago, on an island close enough to visit in about some days’ time, but far enough from prying eyes. He knew he couldn’t just leave Maroon Island to seek him out. Duties here held him back, love held him back. Until Madi could let go of the war he had to be cautious, but god he knew, he knew that every day spent waiting was to be a painful one.

How can one see two different points at one time? John had asked that question a long time ago, another lifetime ago, regardless of it not being even a year. James had answered it needed practice and now John knew he had been right. One part would remain here, while the other would look out over the ocean, until he could close the distance and learn how to connect the past with the future.

He believed in the possibility to lead a happy life with the people he loved most.

“He chose to believe it, because he wasn’t the man that I’d come to know at all. But one who had existed beforehand, waking from a long and terrible nightmare.”

James and he had always believed they could only achieve their goals under the covers of darkness, when no daylight was between them. Though the more John thought about it, the more he realized what a nightmare it had been to walk this path.

This madness of war was their darkness combined. It was a path that left destruction, loss and grief alone. He understood Madi’s ambitions, he had understood James’ ambitions but if it meant to lose them, it was nothing John would seek out. There were other ways to change the world, there had to be other ways to change it. Paths which they could walk in broad daylight. Paths that ensured their lives, because only alive they could change this world. Slowly. Steadily. Together.

“Reorienting to the daylight.”

He saw the disbelief in Madi’s eyes, the astonishment and the pain. It was a story that he believed to be more genuine than anticipated in the aspect of it being a lie. Would Thomas be still alive, John had not hesitated to free him, to bring them back together, those true lovers. Imagining this outcome was bittersweet, yet to his own surprise it lacked any feel of jealousy. Long John Silver would have been selfish enough to only see himself, but the man he was now knew that James’ love for him, for them, would not falter. The heart was an expandable thing and James’ love was endless.

“You may think what you want of me. I will draw comfort in the knowledge that you are alive to think it. But I’m not the villain you fear I am. I am not him.”

This was the truth. Those words were utterly and inextinguishably genuine, honest. He was not him. Not anymore. Long John Silver was a persona created by war and John refused to be him anymore. Not when James loved simply him, John, despite all odds. Not when the prospect of a future required only him. John. _John…_

The rest of the conversation went by in a blur. All he could focus on were Madi’s tears and it was hard to leave. His heart ached, ached with the loss she experienced. This was not something he could amend again. Therefore, he didn’t try. All he could do was hope, hope that one day she would see his point and understand. Until then he could only wait and return to her until she didn’t send him away anymore.

Comfort was hard to find in the following days. Both James and Madi felt miles away, for very different reasons. But every morning John stood up, walked into Madi’s room and waited silently. He refused to offer an apology, for he felt nothing to apologize for. Yet he wanted to show her he was serious and genuine in his words that he would wait for her for an hour, a day, a year, forever until she saw his point. Their point. James’ and his point. God, John missed him so much.

“Leave.”

For weeks, it was the only thing he heard out of her mouth, and while a part of him knew her heart needed time to heal, it still stung. Whenever she sent him away, he would scramble up the hill he had trained on with James. It was not even remarkably close to the camp, the footing sandy and dangerous for a man with a crutch, and still, it was where John found rest. With the wind in his hair, his memory free to remember better, happier days, and his gaze stuck to a horizon that held so much nostalgic meaning to him, John allowed himself to long. Long for a happy future, in which he hadn’t had to recall green eyes, auburn hair and a freckled face, because it was right beside him. Because James was right beside him. A future in which “Leave” was not the only word he heard from the woman he loved.

“I knew it would be hard,” he mumbled into the wind, while he sat on the ground, his crutch right beside him. It was a sunny day and the water shimmered in a turquoise color. It sparkled in the sun, while a distant sound of waves rolling down the beach thrummed in his ears. “I knew it would be difficult. But I really hadn’t anticipated this great a pain of rejection. I miss you, James. Just wait for me, until I can return. Please.”

He had to trust the wind to carry his words to his love.

* * *

Wind tousled his hair, as he stood by the railing, one hand clutching the wood to lift weight off his good leg. His eyes were transfixed on the other deck, every fiber waiting in anticipation of what would happen. Dread reached deep down to his bones and despite the calm figure next to him, he knew that something awful was about to unfold. It was too silent, taken into account that it needed several men to run a ship. Only the sounds of waves clashing against the hull of the Walrus filled his ears with noise. There was a lump in his throat and he couldn’t seem to gulp it down.

There was Billy visible on the other ship and his eyes were hard. John could see it, no matter the distance. It was the same stare he had given him, when John had told him he should have never made him choose. Back on the Underhill Estate.

“They bring someone up,” a voice said, and it startled him. Out of instinct he turned to see who had spoken, just to find Julius a few feet away. What was the man doing here? He was not supposed to be on deck! Yet, John had to make do with it.

“Give me a spyglass,” he demanded and Hands appeared at his free side, slipping one into his open palm. Without further delay John placed it at his eye, squinting for a moment before he adjusted and found what he was looking for. The sight made him gasp. “Muldoon?”

It was not possible, he knew it wasn’t. Muldoon was dead, had died months ago in the hull of this very same ship. John still saw his face, the bright, scared eyes, still heard his words, so comforting even in the prospect of death. God, John saw it, felt it, hated it still, his uselessness in that very moment. It hadn’t been his first loss, but it had been by far the most teaching one.

“What are they doing?” someone mouthed silently, and regardless of John’s need to give an answer, he couldn’t. He simply didn’t know what to say. So he kept on looking, internally praying to a god he didn’t believe in, before he went pale. In mere moments Billy had raised a pistol and shot. Muldoon fell, just like that. Died again. And again, John had been unable to help.

“No! Fuck, no!” he shouted, gripped the railing even tighter, and his knuckles shone white under his skin. Eagerness filled him, tension rippled through his spine as he was ready to board the other ship and do justice. But he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder which held him back. Anger rose and he swirled around, fiery eyes clashing with cold onyx ones. It took him by surprise to see her. “Madi!”

“Look!” she said, and he did, out of instinct. Turned around again, to take in the other ship, where the next person appeared from below. But without the spyglass it was hard to make out anything. Someone moved, turned, but only when John used the spyglass he realized who it was. Immediately his knees went weak, a shudder forcing him to grip the wood even harder, to hold himself upright.

James! No, no! Not him!

“Get the cache!” he shouted, but no one moved. “Get the fucking cache right now!” he tried again, but still, no one moved. They only stared at him. The whole crew stared, some even shaking their heads as if they were disappointed in him.

“The plan failed. Your fucking plan failed!” John had turned to Madi again, shouted at her but she didn’t even flinch. Her head was raised, her demeanor calm and regal. Like always. Like she was above care and pain and fear. “They will shoot him. Kill him. Your plan failed, god-dammit. We’re moving on to my plan!”

But she only shook her head, took in his features and then turned away. Looked out to the other ship, to James, and sighed. “There is no other plan. This is the price we all have to pay for this war to begin.”

A shot rung over the water, the figure fell, and someone screamed. Screamed and screamed and screamed. It was too loud to his own ears, too loud for the night that surrounded him, and with a startle John sat upright in his bed. His first instinct was to leap out from under the sheets, get his crutch and sword, and protect whoever was in danger. Adrenaline rushed through his veins, and hindered him from gripping any other thought. Fear, plain and simple fear, drove him as he pushed his leg over the edge of the bed and straightened his back. Where was his crutch? Who had screamed? Where was Billy, that bastard?

With this thought, like opening a dike, the images of his dream flooded him. It started with Billy, and ended with Madi’s words and James’ falling body. Coldness gripped him, his body and mind unprotected in the darkness of the night. It hadn’t been someone else who had screamed. It had been him.

“Fuck,” he muttered for no one particular to hear, and dropped back into the sheets. His whole body shivered, and while the adrenaline ebbed away, the anxiety rose. With a heavy sigh, he placed his arm over his eyes and suppressed the tears that welled up. It was a dream, a nightmare, not real. James was alive, unharmed and safe. He had to be safe, or else… John didn’t know what to do if things were different. He had once nearly lost his mind to the grief of Madi’s supposed death. But to only think of James’ death…

It hit him like a cannon ball that all this time he had viewed James as a deity, a god of wrath and righteousness. A man that stood proud and strong on deck of his ship, vile and bending the powers of nature by sheer will. Naturally the image had changed the more John had gotten to know him, with all his flaws, mistakes and the loss he carried. The burden he carried, that exhausted him, a little heavier each day. Yet, what had stayed was the believe of immortality.

His hand carded through his locks, rubbed over his face, and eventually fell back onto the sheets, gripping the fabric tightly. Six men! He had sent six men after him, with the firm believe that no one and nothing could stop James – Captain Flint. How close he had been to losing the man he loved with all his heart, because he had been stupid and careless and desperate. His eyes searched something to hold onto in the dark, a light, a shadow, something that was darker than dark or brighter than it. In the end, he looked at the night sky through a window of the hut he had been given by the Maroon people. He wondered if James saw the same stars, and he wondered if he could look at them without being reminded of their navigational purposes. Maybe when there was no more water between all of them - James, Madi and him.

* * *

He didn’t visit Madi this day. It was the first time since he had landed on Maroon Island that he wasn’t silently asking for her forgiveness. A part of him felt guilty for not trying, because it wasn’t her fault. Another part knew he wouldn’t be able to cope with her rejection today. The thought of his dream alone brought him to tears, and his heart ached with longing. James felt too far away. All John wanted to do was to embrace him, and make sure he was safe.

Without thinking his body carried him to the hilltop, his usual spot to rest his soul. It looked different in the morning, the sun a fiery ball at the horizon. Sunrays played with the water, set it ablaze and transformed it into a treasure far more worthwhile. Gold, jewels, gems, there had been a time it was all John had cared for, now all he wanted was the people he loved to be safe. He had given up so much for it. His freedom, his agility, his youth… The dream still fucked him up.

A part of him wanted to board the next ship, and see if James was alright. It was only a few days to the island he was staying at. A week, maybe ten days, to find him, make sure he was alive and well, and be back on Maroon Island. Yet, John knew, if he went now, he would destroy whatever little was left to repair his relationship with Madi. Doing so would also rob James every last chance to repair with her what was broken, and for the sake of their shared happiness, he couldn’t do that.

It was maddening. It truly was. Why couldn’t he just tell her the truth and spare them all this insane suffering? But John saw it clearly in front of his eyes, maybe even better after his nightmare. If he told Madi, who was still mourning the war and her lost chances to help her people, she would seek James out and drag him back into it. They would pick up the fight again, after there was peace in Nassau, and it would destroy them. There were no more resources and people left willing to fight. James had lain down this war for John’s sake, and John would not risk James being pulled back in. Not even by the woman they loved. Especially not by her.

As long as they lived they could figure out other ways to help the slaves. They could figure out other ways to lead a life with purpose and aim. They never could when dead.

All he needed was time to show Madi a different path. A path in the light. He had always known it was harder for her than for James. James had found the light after darkness. Madi needed to find light in blinding brightness. It was not to be done in one day. Or one week or even a month. John knew why he had talked about forever, no matter he hoped it wouldn’t come to it. There was patience in him, but also restlessness, and he would not let James wait forever. If it came to it… John knew there was no life with either of them missing. Madi was part of his heart, had carved her handwriting into it, but James… James had once lost. John wouldn’t allow it to happen again.

He had talked about forever, but there was always a lie in every truth. James needed him and John needed James. Forever was not an option anymore.

* * *

“Where have you been?”

Such accusatory, such harshness in a once soft-spoken voice. But John didn’t flinch, not even shrugged when the words hit him. He had heard Madi coming, had almost anticipated it after he had not visited her today. A part of him rejoiced at the knowledge it must mean she still cared for him, while another broke at the pain it must have brought her. Another sign for her to believe he had given up. Didn’t care. But he cared too much.

“Here,” he answered, his eyes on the horizon. It had become evening; the sun was already low on the sky. It softly illuminated the world in gold and red. It would be so easy for Madi to stab him, push a knife through his back, and turn and turn the blade until he bled out. Red drops of blood mixing with the shimmering sparkles of the ocean. Maybe it would be righteous, maybe wise.

_“This is the price we all have to pay for this war to begin.”_

He couldn’t let James suffer again.

“You said you would wait forever. Here you are, now, after a few weeks, and you already fail. You lied to me. Again, you lied to me!”

Every word cut. Deep. No blade was needed to stab him, hurt him. No sword could be as sharp as Madi’s words. His back was still turned to her but she must see his shoulders shaking. John tried to suppress it, but it was nearly impossible. As straight as he sat, as tall as he stood, he was still a broken figure, unable to cope with the possibility that this meant the end already. The end for happiness.

His hip ached when he pushed himself up, the crutch under his arm, holding the weight of a thousand lifetimes.

“I am still here, and I’m still waiting for you. I take pleasure in knowing your heart beats steady enough to be angry with me. I have not given up on you or us. Be as angry with me as you want, but I will not apologize for something I feel was the right thing to do. I am not sorry!”

Tears stung in his eyes when he turned around to look at Madi. She looked beautiful, even when her brows were furrowed and her forehead laid in wrinkles. She was the most stunning woman he had ever seen, no matter her eyes sparkled fire and her hands had clenched to fists. It didn’t matter. She was alive as was James. There was still time to figure out how to proceed. There was always a way.

“You took my war and robbed me of a way to help thousands of my people. People who are under my protection. You took _his_ war and sold him into slavery. He is gone and I couldn’t even say goodbye!” she said, and no matter Madi didn’t raise her voice it almost felt like she was shouting. Every word felt like a slap, but most stung the visible indication who Madi missed more. It wasn’t his own absence, and a small part of John wondered if it was the war she felt robbed of or James. John did miss him, too. But he couldn’t tell. Not yet.

“He is safe. He found love again. There is room for happiness to grow, and you want to trade it with death. I will not let that happen. Give up on this damned war, it’s over, there is no one willing to fight anymore.”

He did raise his voice. It was impossible for John not to. Because every word hurt so much and he felt the physical need to shout, or else he feared to not get the words out of his throat. Tears stung in the corners of his eyes, but he didn’t allow them to flow. Weakness was still something he hesitated to show. In front of James he could. Pride didn’t stand between them anymore. But Madi. It was all so different with her. He wanted it to change, but change seemed so far away.

“He would have been willing to fight it,” Madi countered, back straight and voice leveled in a way John didn’t manage. He saw her lips part as she spoke, but it took a few moments until the words’ content reached his mind. “He would have stood next to me. He would have fought our war. He would have won it.”

Maybe, maybe Madi was right and maybe there had been a chance to win this damned war. But at what cost? How many men to put into the ground for the slim chance to win? How much blood spilled for a little more time of a free Nassau until the English or the Spain or the France would have want to claim their stake? How much? How much, how much?

What if not? What if, as it was more likely, there had not been a chance to win the war? What if they lost? John didn’t want to see it, but the pictures formed in front of his inner eye. Pictures of Madi in chains, or dead. Pictures of James falling down before him. Pictures of himself, John, dying and knowing James would follow, eventually, eaten away by a darkness that had destroyed the last ten years of his life.

John was too selfish for such an outcome. The part of his heart that cared, loved, wouldn’t been able to take it, the loss. He wanted to live and he wanted the people he loved to live. So he had stopped this damned war, and he would do again.

“He could have died!” John tried to control his wavering voice. But he couldn’t. It betrayed every feeling he wanted to hide. “You could have died, you nearly did!”

“I was ready to die,” Madi spat as an answer, and John wasn’t sure if he should be glad or frustrated that she finally stepped out of her comfort zone and showed emotion too. The regalness of her posture vanished under the fierceness of her stance, the clutched fists and slightly trembling body.

“It doesn’t permit you to choose James’ death, though,” John shot back, angry, as he was, not really thinking about his words. He realized his mistake when Madi laughed hysterically.

“But you did! You send him to slavery, put him in chains. If you’d killed him, it could not be worse.”

Every word was a slap. Every word hurt. Every word left him speechless and numb. His mind went blank. John just shut down. “Stop.” It was nothing but a whisper.

“But what do you know about freedom?”

“Stop.” Louder this time.

“What do you know about honesty? Truth?”

“Stop!” Chocked up, but audible.

“You know nothing about these things. You’re a liar and a thief. You stole purpose from me. From him.”

“Just stop!” He couldn’t bear it anymore. Her words seeped into his consciousness and mocked him. Whispered to him, told him they were true. That he had done wrong and could never make it right. That James hated him.

All these days on the ship, a lie. Every kiss a lie. Every touch. Every smile. Them together. A lie.

“You said you returned him to love. But you don’t know love! Nothing about i-”

“STOP!”

It was a shout, so loud it startled both Madi and him. Her eyes went wide, shocked, while John trembled. His hand clutched the crutch so tightly, his knuckles turned white and sweat was forming on his skin. There was a drowning in his ears similar to the waves down below the beach. It felt like he was drowning anyway.

_“Leave!”_

This time she did. With something close to disgust, Madi left the hills that had once been so peaceful, so hopeful to John. A part of him broke at the sight, had broken with her words. Forever he had said. Forever he would wait. But he couldn’t. Now he knew he couldn’t.

* * *

The next few days went by in a haze. Nothing truly stuck in John’s mind, only some flashes of happenings registered.

He had send word to James. It was not more than a small note. A few lines only, that told nothing to someone who wasn’t supposed to read the letter. _“I need you. I’m sorry. She can’t forgive me. J.S.”_ But John knew James would understand, at least enough to await him, and he did.

Hands had gotten him a passage to Nassau, Max a passage to James’ current whereabouts. While he knew that Hands would not talk, no matter his distrust and seething discontent with how things had unfolded, he was still in a twisted way loyal to John. It amazed him, and pained him, for he knew he could never return it in the slightest.

Max, however, had asked questions. Of course, she did. But she knew James was alive, and when John had refused to speak, at all, she gave in. Maybe because she knew John didn’t intend to break the peace Nassau now lived in. Maybe because she knew he was her strongest supporter when it came to the politics and pardons. Maybe because she knew, all he wanted was to find his love. She didn’t press and he took advantage of it.

Being on a ship without having a say in what happened to the men felt weird. But it honestly felt stranger to know there was a different man occupying the captain’s cabin. Someone who couldn’t turn a crew with mere words. Someone who hadn’t the strength to kill with his bare hands. Someone who didn’t know what it meant to lose and love and fight for freedom, possibility, peace. Someone that wasn’t as gentle and caring and soft as James. Someone who wasn’t his captain, but just a simple man commandeering a ship.

When John put foot on dry land again, he felt dizzy. Everything swirled, the world around him, but mostly his thoughts. Onyx eyes and painful words seemed to haunt him. In every step, in every breath, they followed him. Every night another nightmare. Every day a loss.

Until he saw him hurrying close, his green eyes worried, his mouth a thin line. The freckled skin like marble, expensive, luxurious. James was whole, complete, alive and real. And he was there, tense and sick with too many questions and too less answers, but he was there, and John fell into him. Arms slung around his body, held him tight, when his tears spilled over and all the yearning seeped out of his body. John was shivering, his face hidden in James’ neck, while his fingernails clawed into the shirt he wore.

He didn’t care for the people around him. Didn’t care they were stared at, murmured at. He was a one-legged creature, a broken king and a pirate who hated the sea. He had fallen in love with a villain and just left a princess. People’s whispers were the last thing he cared about, when he finally came home to the man he needed the most. Yet, he sobbed, “I am sorry!” and was glad when all he heard was:

“It’s okay. I’m here. You’re safe. Hush, you’re safe!”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments make me giddy.  
> Ramble with me on [tumblr](https://arzani92.tumblr.com/).


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